You Brought A Fire To A World So Cold
by Serie11
Summary: It was snowing, but Dean didn't feel the cold. Being a demon had few perks, but that was one of them.


It was snowing, but Dean didn't feel the cold.

The humans were scurrying around, most smiling brightly, laughing as they huddled together, rushing to do their last minute shopping for others. He still didn't see the point of Christmas, really. You spent money on things that you didn't know other people would want, and they probably spent less money on you, for things you probably didn't want. Why didn't humans just take the opportunity to buy what they each wanted for themselves? The whole thing seemed way too messy for Dean, and that was saying a lot.

The town that he'd picked was small, barely worth the name. A tattered sign hung up in an op-shop across the street, advertising Christmas sales. Dean kicked at a drift of snow, sending ice flying as he did so. No one ever wanted to make deals around Christmas time – the positive atmosphere stifled most demon activity. It was also a time when faith among the humans was usually at its peak. While this town wasn't big enough to have a proper supermarket, it was big enough to have a church. Dean could hear the carols and laughter from it spiralling through the air from down the street. He shivered slightly for the first time that night, and changed direction.

Walking into the first place that felt like it would welcome him, Dean was not surprised to find that it was a bar. The shadowy cobwebs that surrounded most bars spoke of blood spilled, brawls, intoxication, and sex, all things that Dean was comfortable with.

There was a single man sitting and nursing a beer, but besides him and the bartender, the bar was empty. Dean preferred them raging and loud, but he'd take what he could get. He flicked his fingers at the bartender, and the young woman sauntered over, flicking the towel she'd been using to wipe down the bar over her shoulder.

"What can I get for you this evening?"

"Just whatever you've got on tap," Dean said, drumming his fingers against the wood he was leaning on. The bartender nodded at him, smiling sympathetically.

"Got kicked out already? That's pretty harsh."

Dean tried not to wince. He had snuck out of Hell, really. Alastair wouldn't be happy to find out that he'd been up here without doing some deals, but Dean didn't risk his sponsor's wrath for nothing. He was hoping to meet someone, and if they turned up, well. Maybe there was something true in the human's 'Christmas Magic,' after all.

Dean just shrugged, and the bartender didn't say anything else as she put the glass down in front of him, accurately picking up that he didn't want to talk. Dean tuned out the shitty Christmas movie playing on the TV in the corner and dragged his finger around the lip of the glass in front of him.

"This is not a place that most would choose to come to, tonight."

Dean closed his eyes for a second and let the gravelly voice wash over him. When he turned to look, Cas was standing behind him, wrapped in his fugly trenchcoat, hair speckled with snow.

"Well, I'm not most people," Dean replied, turning to face the bar again. "Can I have one for my friend here?"

Cas looked bemusedly at the beer that was placed in front of him as he slid onto the stool beside Dean. The demon and the angel sat silently for a few minutes, Dean staring at either the wall or his beer as he tried to ignore Cas's eyes on him.

While most things felt bland and pale to him, Cas burned like a bonfire. Dean knew demons that couldn't stand to be in the presence of any angel because of the heat they emitted. While Dean was very grateful that that didn't apply to him, standing next to Cas for an extended period of time made him itch. He could _feel_ the goodness in the angel, which was one of the reasons he had no idea why Cas wanted to spend time with him. He was just a no good demon that happened to be in the right place at the right time to attract the attention of the only angel that Dean didn't want to pluck the wings off.

"The humans gather," Cas said. He still hadn't touched his beer, but Dean hadn't expected him to. "You can feel their faith. This is where it's weakest in the town."

"Jeez, keep it down," Dean grouched. "The humans get touchy when they're spoken about like that."

Cas kept watching him, like he always did. Unlike most demons, who Dean would skin if they had the audacity to look at him like that, Dean didn't mind Cas's gaze. It felt solid, which was a rare thing in Dean's world.

"Most demons stay in Hell around this time," Cas continued, like he'd said something in response. Dean grimaced and threw back his beer, resisting the urge to growl.

"Like I said, I'm not 'most demons.'"

Cas sat silently, fire contained by bars of white flame. Dean wasn't sure how that worked, but somehow, it fit. Dean drank Cas's beer as well, the glass _thunking_ as he put it back down.

"That's not a bad thing," Cas said, very quietly. "I would not converse with 'most demons.'"

That was true. Cas held himself apart from any demon that he encountered, looking at them with distaste at best. At worst, he fried them from the inside out; like he was meant to be doing with Dean. If they were seen together, they'd be shit to deal with, but he didn't care – he'd take it if he got to spend time with Cas. He waved at the bartender, and she nodded to him, bringing over two more beers. Dean grabbed the first one as soon as she put it down.

"True," Dean said, after it was clear that Cas was waiting for a response. "Sorry for snapping."

"It's fine," Cas replied, shifting slightly in his seat. The fire that made up what he was moved slightly, and Dean resisted the urge to lean back when it trickled towards him. He'd been playing with fire for far too long to not know that it bit and burned far more often then it danced.

Not that he thought that Cas would harm him intentionally. The angel had proved that a few years ago, when they'd been spotted by two of his angelic friends. They'd confronted Cas, saying something about 'demon spawn' and 'offspring of darkness.' While it wasn't anything that Dean hadn't heard before, for some reason, having the insults thrown at him while Cas had been there had hurt more. Cas had very calmly, very coldly, told them to fuck off. Well, not in those words. But that had been the gist of it.

"What happened?" Cas asked gently. "I can tell that you're upset."

Dean jerked his head, looking away from him. Demons weren't _supposed_ to have any emotions that mattered, but Cas had taken that rule and smashed it to pieces as well. Or maybe he had just helped Dean break it on his own; some days, he wasn't sure how they'd even managed to get to this point.

"Just bad shit," Dean eventually said, tipping back the last of the second beer. "You know how it is down there."

"I see," Cas said.

"You don't," Dean spat, pushing the empty glasses away from him. "That's the point."

There was a strained silence for a few seconds before Dean sighed. "Sorry. I didn't mean it like that."

"I know," Cas told him. "Dean. You can talk to me, you know. I don't fly down here to listen to your silence, as charming as it is."

Dean huffed slightly. "Yeah, yeah. It's just stuff that I don't want to talk to you about." There was a lot of stuff that he didn't want to talk to Cas about. He never wanted Cas to see him for who he was, or he was certain that the angel would leave, if he didn't smite him first. And other things; well. Cas didn't need to know about what went on in Hell.

"Can I get some whiskey?" Dean asked the woman standing behind the bar as she walked past. She nodded and Dean slouched a bit more.

"Alcohol only has an effect if you want it to," Cas told him, eyebrows slightly pinched together as the bartender – her name badge said Carol, of fucking course – put three shot glasses down in front of him. "You can decide to be drunk without it if you want."

"It's the process," Dean replied, downing one. "That's the therapy, Cas. Not the end result, really. That's just a bonus." Cas waited while he twirled the empty glass in his hand, watching as the little light there was in the bar reflect off the edge of it. "Alastair's just being more uptight than normal. I shouldn't be so on edge about it."

Cas's eyes flashed dangerous for a split second, and the fire inside him roared as if stoked. Cas controlled himself in less time than it took for Dean to flick his eyes over to see his reaction, but it was enough for most creatures in the surrounding vicinity to feel it. The bartender flinched as if someone had clapped unexpectantly in front of her face, and the man at the end of the bar fell off his stool.

Dean edged away from him, resisting the urge to check if his clothes had been scorched. "I detest that demon more than any other," Cas said, voice completely flat.

"He's my boss, so I can't really do anything about it. And unless you're thinking of mounting a one man offensive into Hell, I don't think that there's anything you can do about it either." Dean sighed.

"He should be extremely grateful that there is peace between the spheres right now," Cas continued. The juxtaposition between the ice in his voice and the heat he was giving off was making Dean's head swirl, so he swallowed the last shot and stood up, legs slightly wobbly. He fished out a fifty and threw it on the bench before grabbing Cas's shoulder and tugging, amused by how his coat bunched.

Outside in the snow, Dean felt calmer. Cas's heat had been stroking his own rage, but the cold he could just feel in the snow reminded him of Hell. The humans thought that Hell was heat and fire and _hot_ , but Dean and any other demon knew better. The angels were the flames: passion and vigour and excitement and intensity. Demons were cold: empty and hollow, blank and heavy, weighted down by their sins. They were the remnants of angels and of humans, persistent, nagging reminders of what _could have been_ if you'd only been a bit stronger, smarter, better.

Dean didn't feel the cold in the air because he was used to far worse temperatures, both from Hell, and from inside himself.

Cas came up to stand beside him, and Dean wasn't sure how the snow that fell onto his nose didn't instantly melt as it came into contact with Heavenly fire. It sat for a long few seconds before it melted, a tiny droplet of water on Cas's nose.

"Why are you even here, Cas?" Dean asked, suddenly very tired. "What are you doing? We're not meant to be talking, not after last time."

Cas looked off to the side. "I could feel your prayer, directed towards me. You wanted me to come to you."

"I don't pray," Dean scoffed. Cas tilted his head slightly and didn't call him out on it, leaving Dean listening to his own words echoing around in the snowy evening.

"Of course," Cas told him, and Dean bristled slightly at his tone. "Dean, I'm here because I care for you. Is that not enough?"

"I guess," Dean muttered, but he wasn't really satisfied. "I still don't know why you do, though."

Cas looked at him from the side of his eye. Dean kicked at a lump of ice on the pavement as he kept walking, not looking at his angelic companion. He felt that too often, Cas could see through him far too easily. Dean liked to think that he kept his thoughts hidden, but it took hard work to keep things from Cas. The angel understood him like so few others did.

"You were in Fahaheel, meant to be seeding chaos for the next season of reaping souls; only possible because of the imbalance that Raziel had created when she performed a miracle the previous spring. And there were demons poisoning fish and destroying important infrastructure, and I was sent to watch and record any oversteps that you took. I couldn't do anything – it would upset the balance. It was very… frustrating, for me." Cas sighed out a breath, creating a soft fog in the night air. "And then I saw you. A demon like any of the others, I thought. But then, you stopped in the middle of the road, looked around to make sure there was no one that could see you, and you knelt in front of a young girl who was crying at the side of the road. And you healed her scraped knee and you talked to her softly and made her laugh. I think about that, every time I see you Dean. That quiet act of kindness in a place where only destruction and anger would reign for a time."

Dean had his eyes glued to the pavement in front of him. "… I didn't know that you were there."

"I know," Cas tells him softly. "But I still saw. No one is beyond forgiveness for what they have done, Dean. My Father told us all that, long ago. And no matter what you have done, you can be forgiven as well, just as anyone can be. As long as it is desired, it is never out of reach."

"I don't think it matters what I do now. It's already done, and that's not going to help the people I've hurt."

Cas didn't say anything for a long time. They walked in silence until they reached the border of the town, and Dean kept walking along the highway, the angel an unwavering presence by his side.

"An angel's love is not lightly given," Cas told him solemnly. "You would do well to remember that, Dean."

Dean shivered slightly and tilted his head up so he could only see the whirling whiteness of the incoming snowstorm. "If I did have an angel's love, that would be something to think over, yes," he admitted.

"Well I say you do," Cas told him, voice very serious. Dean looked at him when Cas took a step closer, whirling light and heat surrounded by whiteness. Dean wasn't prepared for the light kiss Cas laid on his lips, a chaste touch that only lasted a moment. "You are worthy of love, Dean Winchester. If I say it is so, then _it is so_."

Dean looked at the barely hidden _bright good light power_ behind Cas's eyes. He knew, in the deepest parts of his blackened soul, that Cas was the best thing that had happened, that _would_ happen to him.

So maybe – _just maybe_ – he could believe the angel who had such faith in a demon.

The snow fell, ignorant to the emotion in their eyes.


End file.
